


Just Stay

by polysyndeta



Series: Triumvirate [7]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Puppy Play, Sex Toys, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polysyndeta/pseuds/polysyndeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He buckles the collar around his neck, tests he's got two fingers' worth of give between suede and skin, and he probably shouldn't have done this in the room with the actual dead dog in it but never mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, the porn-to-feelings ratio is like 1:5.

He's getting changed (well, _changed_ is too meaningful, let's say _stripped and accessorised_ ) in the downstairs bathroom of Harry's mews house and he's thinking this could have maybe been a terrible fucking idea.

Here's the thing. He knows - and deep down always knew - that Harry and Merlin were never going to take this anything _but_ seriously. Neither of them are the type for the fleeting or casual. No matter what he's snapped out at Harry in a moment of startled, embarrassed _hurt_ , he never thought that he was a boytoy for the two of them to fuck about with for a bit and then demote back to 'subordinate colleague' status. And at first that was weird, because the old affection between them was obvious when he started looking for it, and then he was scared shitless that he'd always be on the outside looking in and yet they just kind of...absorbed him. Easily. 

Once, when his mum was delirious with exhaustion after his sister had woken them for the fourth time that night, she'd explained this phenomenon in a different context: _I was so scared when she was born, babe, because I never thought I'd have space in my heart to love her like I did you. And then the midwife passed 'er to me and my heart got twice as big. Just like that._

They don't talk about _love_ but sometimes he wonders if it's because they're all emotional fuckups of various stripes or if it's for the same reason Merlin says it's a waste of time to comment on the weather. That being: there's no point flagging up the obvious.

(Then Harry says that Englishmen discuss the weather as a form of social grooming behaviour - to establish a general willingness for conversation - and Merlin rolls his eyes and ignores him.)

Eggsy undresses piece by piece: tucks his trainers in next to the loo, balls up his socks inside them, shimmies out of his jeans.

Even in the knowledge that he wasn't just their live-in concubine or whatever, he'd maybe had a few expectations when it came to who topped. He's the youngest, the least experienced, it just sort of...makes sense, don't it, if he gets put in his place every so often? More often than not, maybe? And _yeah_ , he gets fucked pretty comprehensively, gets to come with Merlin's jizz on his tongue and Harry's dick buried in his arse, but even when it's overwhelming it never feels like he's _submitting_. 

Merlin and Harry, on the other hand, have very specific shit that they like when they want to unwind. Merlin likes it rough, he likes to be pinned and fucked relentlessly and sometimes slapped around a little bit. He likes to be in that grey area where pain and pleasure is just _more sensation_ , where he's floaty-high and when Eggsy looks at Harry he's watching like he's monitoring a mission because Merlin's too far gone and he (they) have to know where to stop, since he doesn't any more. Harry, on the other hand, likes to be _good_. He likes to sink into a quiet cool place where he follows orders and gets praised. It's not about fucking up and getting kinkily 'punished', it's the opposite; it's neat and simple in a way the harsh, unforgiving reality of the world outside just isn't. It's cathartic for Merlin too, he realises, that he can direct the action knowing that unforeseen circumstances aren't going to arise and he can just take Harry to where he needs to be, without him getting hurt.

And Eggsy didn't think he'd like either of those extremes, and he told them so. And now they're trialling the suggestion Merlin came up with when he explained, haltingly, that he wanted to be disciplined but not in a harsh way, that he mostly wanted to be... _you know_...and then Harry had smiled his understanding and spared him pointing out that it was raining outside.

Naked now, he reaches into the wooden box he brought with him and finds the blue suede collar he picked out at Coco de Mer. 

(Fondly remembers the pair of braying dickheads from the City who poked their heads in, chortling about how this was where _mistresses bought toys for their slaves_ , then saw a twentysomething chav kid contemplating butt plugs with two lightly possessive fiftysomethings and maybe had their horizons expanded a little.)

Caring for a dog is simple. You love it, and sometimes you have to set boundaries and make corrections and do things that feel harsh, but you still fuckin' love it. You do those things _because_ you fuckin' love it.

He buckles the collar around his neck, tests he's got two fingers' worth of give between suede and skin, and he probably shouldn't have done this in the room with the actual dead dog in it but never mind. At least JB's round at his mum's, busy imprinting on his little sister (or, more worryingly, vice versa).

The front door opens, letting in a blast of wind so icy he thinks he can feel it through the bathroom door, and he shivers with cold and preemptive embarrassment. This is, he thinks, going to be the first thing that's one hundred per cent new to all three of them and -- what if they hate it? What if they laugh at him? What if they don't find it sexy, what if they just think it (and by extension _he_ ) is just weird and stupid? Shit, what if _he_ hates it and then he's got to throw in the towel and admit that he's a fuckin' idiot and didn't think it through proper?

The front door closes. A quick double-tap at the bathroom door ( _we're ready when you are_ ) sounds as he hears Harry and Merlin walk past to the snug living room at the back of the house. He takes a deep breath and waits. The house is old and not terribly well-insulated; it's easy enough to hear them moving around upstairs, changing into what passes for evening casual in the Hart household. Merlin favours soft long-sleeved tees and well-fitted dark jeans; Harry is apparently incapable of going more informal than a white shirt and slacks. Eggsy listens to them both coming downstairs, talking in low voices so he can't make out the individual words; they retreat into the living room at the back of the house.

Eggsy fidgets at his reflection in the mirror for a few seconds longer and then follows them. The heating's been on for a while; it's cool enough that he's conscious of his nudity, but warm enough that he's not worried about anything going blue and dropping off. He puts his hand to the doorknob and turns.

The living room is a snug little space that looks like it belongs in a London gentleman's club (the old-school kind, before the term got co-opted by birds throwing themselves around steel poles). Where Harry's office seems to have been furnished via the Sixties, in here it all skews earlier. Two oxblood Chesterfield sofas (with a small armoury in their hidden seat compartments); a record player (with discreet iPod dock); a glass-fronted mahogany drinks cabinet (with one unmarked bottle of brandy containing a powerful sedative); an open fireplace. The hearth has been stacked with seasoned cherry logs, underpinned with kindling and firelighters that Eggsy knows are made from Harry's shredded mission briefings, but is as-yet unlit.

Harry and Merlin sit at opposite ends of the closest Chesterfield, elegant in repose. They fit there perfectly, like the room would have just naturally accumulated around them even without Harry's aesthetic to guide it. 

Eggsy, naked and flushed on the threshold, feels cheap and fake and out of place.

"Fuck. This was stupid," he says instantly, and he drops his eyes because he knows they're looking at him and he can't dare to look back. He doesn't think they're laughing at him but he couldn't handle politely suppressed amusement, either. Not so much as a twinkle in the eye - and definitely not a trace amount of fucking _pity_. If either of them looks like they feel sorry for him, he's gonna take a step backwards and hook his collar over a bannister and fuckin' well hang himself.

He's clearly also the shittiest spy in the world, because he doesn't process that Harry's gotten up from the sofa until he feels warm fingers curling around his.

"Eggsy. This is...a very impressive entrance, I must say, but if you've changed your mind all you have to do is go and dress. Nothing will happen that you're not comfortable with."

Not the wheedling, vaguely manipulative _we don't have to do anything_ but the more definitive _nothing will happen_. And it makes him rebel against the idea because he doesn't _want_ nothing to happen and he knows - terrible spy again - that he's telegraphing it, that it's all over his stupid face.

"I know. I _know_ , I only..."

Merlin - Merlin who has to watch from thousands of miles away and read every twitch in a mark's features and know _exactly_ what's coming next - is the one who picks it up. Or maybe he's just the one who says it, from the sofa:

"For what it's worth, you look fantastic. Christ. You do so want to be a good boy, do you no'?"

Eggsy hears himself whine softly, and Harry strokes his fingertips against the suede and his knees buckle.

"Eggsy. Do you think it's stupid," Harry whispers, "or are you worried that _we'll_ think it's stupid?" and Eggsy's face is on fire because he's so fucking transparent and because he hates, _hates_ knowing that he's thinking the worst of them when they've never given him a reason to. Not here or anywhere like it.

"How's this," Merlin offers, ever the tutor, always giving him the option to push himself a bit further than he thinks he can go: "We'll just sit together a while. No games. No funny stuff. If you decide you want more, we'll do more."

"And if you decide you'd rather stop," Harry concludes, "we'll say no more about it."

Eggsy hesitates, twisting in the wind, then nods.

"Yeah. Okay."

He refuses an offer to put some/any clothes back on and curls up between them, bare skin against cool leather and skin-warmed cotton. It feels decadent, like when he's naked and just barely dry after a shower, sliding between crisp fresh sheets and dragging his limbs against the fabric just for the sensation of it.

And for a while that's it. Harry tunes the radio - 1930s vintage, heavy polished-wood casing - to what he thinks is Classic FM at a low volume, and lights the fire, and they just sit together. It's raining heavily outside but it's so warm in there that the weather feels very distant, even where it's drumming against the curtained window. Harry strokes his hair and Merlin rests a hand on his knee, sometimes drifting up and down the outside of his thigh. Never straying anywhere oversensitive, even when the exposure makes _everything_ feel vulnerable.

Eggsy is probably never going to _appreciate_ classical music in the way he knows Harry does - he likes music to have _words_ , thanks - but it's good background noise. It rolls around the sounds of the rain and the fireplace crackling gently and it's what you'd record and sell as ambient sound for Posh English Evenings In. It has to say something about him that that's what calms him now. He thinks maybe he drifts off, or just falls into a trance, but when he surfaces the mostly-strings on the radio have changed to mostly-piano and Merlin is stretching out a little next to him. Harry's hand has stilled in his hair, but when he shifts a little he feels a gentle scratching at his nape.

"Peckish," Merlin mumbles. "Have we got anything in, Harry?"

"I brought that sushi back with us," he says lazily, and Eggsy's well up for that. He took a bit of convincing to try it for the first time, having previously only eaten fish in a 'fingers' or 'and chips' context and either way _cooked_. He knows what food poisoning is, nobody could blame him for being a bit squeamish, could they? Only then Harry just decided that was enough of that and swept him off to Nobu on the rationale that if he was going to try something new, he'd try the best that could be made available. 

Raw fish is actually really good; who fuckin' knew.

He's been noticed perking up because Harry chuckles and strokes his jaw. "Hungry?"

People words fail him. He can't even nod or give a thumbs-up; he just turns his head and mouths at Harry's fingers. Scrapes his teeth lightly against the whorl of his index fingertip. He's aware of Merlin watching him.

"This is what you want," Harry says quietly, and obviously he's not talking about sushi. 

Eggsy almost resents Harry for wanting him out of the comfy space he's found in his head, however briefly, but he fuckin' loves him to pieces for it at the same time. He nods, then goes for gold: human speech.

"I'm sure," he says, "I want it," and Harry's face goes soft and indulgent.

"I'll be back in a moment."

Eggsy stretches out across Harry's third of the sofa while he waits, ankles hooked over the armrest. When the retreating footsteps start to approach again, Merlin makes a soft scolding noise under his breath and gently hauls him semi-upright, exactly like he's manhandling a recalcitrant pet and not adjusting a human being. 

"Keeping your spot warm," he murmurs wryly to Harry, who just chuckles and sets down the platter on the low coffee table before reclaiming his seat.

"Wicked creature. We must teach you some boundaries," he says, and Eggsy feels his mouth slacken and his brows furrow and he doesn't have to make a sound to have Harry shaking his head. "But we needn't start right now."

And that's how Eggsy knows that Harry isn't treating him like he'd treat an _actual_ puppy, because no fucking chance was he ever that idle and inconsistent with Mr. Pickle.

They take turns to feed him by hand, letting him take melt-in-the-mouth sashimi and perfectly formed maki rolls from their fingertips, and he licks soy sauce off their fingers and makes quiet, satisfied sounds in the back of his throat. He feels warm and replete, he feels safe and _good_ in a way that's bizarrely simple when he's curled naked and collared between two fully dressed killers. Sometimes he found it weird, how the same men who can laugh at the mortal fear of a bunch of Oxbridge grads or use kneecapping to punctuate a tricky conversation can _also_ remember to order the coconut-lime ice cream Eggsy likes (Merlin), and fuss over being at the theatre in time to collect tickets (Harry), and bicker like an old married couple over who gets to be first to use the shower (all three of them, ultimately). That felt _off_ to him. Weren't they supposed to come home and drink heavily, wracked with guilt and hollowed by cynicism, nursing secret addictions to drugs or gambling? Weren't they supposed to _fight_ more?

( _Sounds fuckin' exhausting_ , was Merlin's verdict and Harry's more carefully delivered opinion was: _not everyone brings their violence home with them_. Merlin refers to the selection process as a job interview, he explains, because what you have at the end is a job - and if you're very lucky, you live long enough for it to be a career. It's never a _life_ and nor should it be.)

Harry does the dishes after dinner and Merlin goes with him to wash his hands and Eggsy is left on the sofa, feeling chilly without them despite the warm haze emanating from the fireplace. He's in a warm clingy place where he doesn't want to be alone, not even for five minutes, not when that means he's missing out on being touched and definitely not when extended solitude might make him start thinking he's being a daft twat and they're just indulging him and that they're in the kitchen right now, talking in low voices about the best way to let him down gently. No, he's okay without going into that place, thanks.

He gets off the sofa and walks, spy-silent tread improved by being barefoot, to the dining room to peer into the little kitchen beyond. He's not sure what he's expecting to find, but it comes as a surprise to find Merlin crowding Harry against the sink from behind, gently rocking against his back, one hand wrapped around his hip with obvious intent.

And then he sees Merlin give a tiny twitch of the head - not quite so much as looking back over his shoulder, but it's an acknowledgement - and Eggsy realises they did this specifically for him to walk in on.

His dick twitches. He whimpers and goes down before he even really realises that's what he's doing, and maybe they're so well-trained that they can hear the vibrations when his knees silently hit the floor, but _that's_ when they properly take in that he's there. Harry turns in Merlin's embrace, back to the sink, and smiles at him over the Scotsman's shoulder.

"There you are," Harry chuckles. "Get lonely without us, boy?" and Eggsy just moans helplessly at the word and goes onto his hands and _crawls_ because that feels like the right thing to do. They meet him halfway. Merlin tucks his fingertips under his chin, giving him a couple of quick short scritches under the chin that become longer and firmer, sliding along the line of his jaw until he's scratching behind his ear and Eggsy's leaning into it like a - well. 

Yeah.

He gets back to his feet for the walk upstairs and goes right the fuck back down the second they cross the threshold to his bedroom. On hands and knees, the world is a lot less complicated, becomes a simple equation of _I want that plus they want that equals let's do that._ Case in point: when they start undressing, it's obvious that everyone in the room wants them naked and so he tries to help. Mostly by snagging whatever starts dangling loose between his teeth and giving a hopeful tug here and there, which makes Merlin laugh and Harry tut at him.

(He's starting to wonder if Merlin just lets the candidates' puppies do whatever the fuck they want before he lets the actual candidates get hold of them. Would explain a lot.)

" _Down_ , boy," Harry says at last, when Eggsy's interest in his trousers pulls a thread loose from the hem. His voice isn't even that sharp and yet he finds himself responding like he's been physically pulled: he sits back abruptly, arse dropping onto his heels, hands hanging uselessly between his spread knees.

"Give 'em an inch," Merlin says, not even trying to suppress his amusement. He's naked - ruthlessly efficient in getting in the buff, as always - and his dick is hanging heavy and half-hard between his thighs. Eggsy doesn't even realise he's leaning in for a taste until he's stopped by a gentle hand on his brow.

"Terribly easy to distract, aren't you? Maybe if you had a toy to keep you occupied," Harry says, contemplative, and Eggsy goes from semi-interested to hard and twitching in a matter of seconds.

The _toy_ , he already knows, isn't gonna be a squeaky ball or a rope to tug - it's the Aneros they picked out. Sometimes Harry or Merlin will push their index finger into him and rub his prostate from the inside, while a firm knuckle against his perineum massages it from the outside, and it doesn't take him long to start moaning and squirming and rolling his hips as he searches for sensation. This is like that, he's been promised, but _more_.

Unsurprisingly, which that kind of endorsement he is _just fine_ with going onto hands and knees - more like shoulders and knees - on the bed and let them get it in there. Harry rubs him open with a finger first, has him wriggling and needy by the time he replaces it with the silicone shaft. It's slick with lube and hand-warmed, no moment of unexpected chill to make him tense up; it helps him stay submersed. Pretty much the second it's in, he knows he's in trouble. Just tensing and shifting makes it move inside him in a way that is _fucking guaranteed_ to get his eyes rolling back in his head. Jesus.

"Perfect," Merlin says, and it's not like Eggsy's not ridiculously vulnerable to positive reinforcement 24/7 anyway but he shivers all the same. "Nice little tail you've got there," he adds. Eggsy knows he's fingering the curl of plastic that keeps it secure because of the way it makes the angle change inside him. The pressure against his gland is right up against _too fucking much_ for that one moment; he tries to vocalise his discomfort and it comes out in a yipping noise. He finds that the flush of mortification he'd been expecting never comes. It works, too; Merlin pats his arse lightly before settling back onto the bed. He and Harry and lying side by side now, heads together, bodies describing a rough inverted V on the bed so Eggsy's got space to curl up between them.

"Just _stay_ ," Harry says, a quiet order, and Eggsy sinks down to relax as best he can. His prick is still hard, but it feels like getting his hips to slowly rock in such a way as to keep up the constant not-quite-enough rhythm on his prostate is more important. Harry's still talking: "Just a few minutes, boy, and then we can play."

The promise of reward keeps him still where he's sprawled. He watches them kissing, gentle with each other, and it makes him feel hyper-aware of his lips and tongue and how he wants to be doing so much more with them than he is. He's actually salivating a little but he's not embarrassed by that, he doesn't even feel like there's any reason to be, so long as he's doing what he's told.

The clock on Harry's bedside cabinet is a damned liar. The _fucking hour_ that passes while he waits is somehow recorded as seven minutes. Harry and Merlin are touching each other now, idle hands sweeping over chests and snagging at small peaked nipples and Eggsy _wants_ but it's not his hands he wants to use. His fingers feel clumsy; one's curled loosely into a fist and the other is clutching at the bedsheet. He's rolling his hips gently, like he's keeping an itch scratched, and he's conscious of the fact that he could get his fingers around his dick and come in seconds but that feels wrong, somehow. It'd get him off but it wouldn't _satisfy_ him.

"I think he's been patient enough," Merlin says, voice a low Scottish rumble, and Harry hums.

"I suppose." Eggsy thinks that it shouldn't turn him on so much that he sounds so detached, like he's talking to Merlin and Eggsy just happens to be present. Like he can't understand what's being said. "Maybe we ought to let him get acquainted."

 _Then_ he adopts his talking-to-pets voice. "How about it, boy? You've been ever so patient."

Eggsy has no idea what they're going to ask of him but he perks up all the same. Merlin gently jostles him down between Harry's widespread legs; he slides his body over Harry's, straddling him on hands and knees, and Eggsy realises this puts him right in front of pretty much everything he wants to bury his face in right now.

"No nibbling, alright?" Harry says. Merlin chuckles and Eggsy stops thinking and just falls back on the simple arithmetic of desire spurring action. No hands, no teeth, just a greedy lapping tongue stroking from Merlin's arsehole to the heavy heft of his balls and along the shaft of his prick. It's all base sensation, taste and scent - the slight chemical trace of unscented soap, the acridity of fresh sweat and the indefinable musk of arousal. He takes it in, gets drunk on it, and every single time he moves he can feel his _tail_ shifting around inside him, making him helpless with bliss. He hears Merlin move and feels him shift; his prick touches Harry's and Eggsy just follows him down, worming his tongue between their cockheads and making them both gasp and shudder. Just with his fuckin' tongue. 

And he forgets how he ever could have felt stupid or inadequate on his knees in his collar, because right now he feels like he's on top of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear hilarious jerks I encountered in Coco de Mer: enjoy your cameo?
> 
> Next time: ahahaha I have no idea. I think I might step back from this series for a short while so I can exorcise some of the less fluffy/more ridiculous things in my head. Maybe I ought to start tumbling so people can give me prompts. :|a


End file.
